I'm Fine
by Alison Ocean
Summary: "A cold sweat gathered at her nape. Then, abruptly, the muddy ground was rising up to meet her."
1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Abbie Mills blinked slowly – once, twice, three times. She rubbed both eyes for good measure and blinked rapidly to clear away the tears that the action caused. The hazy image of a ramshackle apartment building came into view. Its only exit, a single door painted dark evergreen, was cast in the shine of an ancient streetlamp that looked like it had sprouted out of the crumbling cement sidewalk like a weed. The numbers spray painted in black on the sidewalk, just ahead of where Abbie had parked her SUV, marked the unexceptional residence as 2367 Berman Avenue.

She had been sitting, watching this stupid little door for so many hours that her eyes kept crossing. Stake-outs usually weren't this bone-wearying for her, and she was surprised at herself. This was a basic cut-and-dry drug bust, and a return to some normality after spending the last few weeks chasing demons through the Sleepy Hollow sewers. She wondered absently when normal police work had become such a rare occurrence. _Probably has something to do with the 18th century time traveler sleeping in my passenger seat._ She glanced over at Crane, who had passed out about an hour before. He had insisted on coming with her, as with all of her other calls, standard or not. And despite the inconvenience he sometimes posed; correcting witnesses' grammar while she was taking their statements, butting into her personal life at any chance he got, shouting at museum tour guides; she had come to genuinely enjoy his company. He was smart; _ridiculously _smart. Abbie didn't know how she could have made sense of any of the supernatural happenings of the past few weeks without his incomparable knowledge and insight. This was without mentioning how fun it was to tease him, and ruffle his straight-laced sensibilities every once in awhile. When Sheriff Corbin had been murdered, Abbie had thought that no one, _no one_ would be able to fill the space that he'd left in her life. How ironic was it that Crane was now overflowing that same space? Within their first week of meeting each other, he'd forced her to face a wound that she'd hardly realized she'd been carrying for years, and by the end of that week she had become indebted to the man for saving her life.

_However_, she thought as Crane snored lightly, _I think this makes us about even_.

The dim light of her dashboard clock told her that it was 3:29am. _That made it_…her brow furrowed as she counted back the hours. That made it nearly seven and a half hours of absolutely _nothing_. No one going in and out of the apartment, and less cars passing by than she could count on one hand. A small shudder coursed through her petite frame, and she wrapped her arms around her body for warmth.

_"Ah-choo!" _Abbie sneezed loudly, startling herself and breaking the thick silence that had settled in the car.

The entire frame of the vehicle shuddered as "tall, dark, and British" jolted awake in the passenger seat.

"What the devil…" he trailed off, looked around dazedly.

"_Sorry_." Abbie grinned smugly at his confused expression before yanking a tissue out of the glove compartment and loudly blowing her nose. Crane yawned and rubbed his eyes slowly with one hand.

"Is that really necessary?" He griped without opening his eyes.

"Would you like to volunteer your coat sleeve?" Abbie tried as she wadded up the tissue.

At that his eyes snapped open. "Certainly not."

She laughed at that; a laugh that ended in a raspy cough. She cleared her throat and patted her chest, quickly brushing it off. She did, however, feel Crane's eyes on her as she brushed her hair over her other shoulder.

"Are you quite well?" He asked, sounding a slight bit concerned. Abbie rolled her eyes. Leave it to Crane to blow a sniffle out of proportion. He didn't know all that she did - that her head had been pounding for the past hour and a half and that she'd nearly dozed off four separate times. But she wasn't worried. It was normal to occasionally feel a little run-down on the job – especially during boring stake-outs. She cleared her throat once more before answering.

"Healthy as a horse."

She ignored Crane's deadpan stare and winced as she massaged her temples.

"But I've got to be honest, I would love to slack off and take a nap right about now. It's not like we're on assignment or anything." She stared at him pointedly, waiting for him to get the joke.

He bristled and immediately straightened his posture, as well as his coat. _There's that 18th century attitude._

"Apologies."

_Yeah, right. And I'm Martha Washington._

Abbie flashed what she hoped was a placating grin before returning to the business at hand. "Well, you didn't miss much. Our perp hasn't so much as gotten up to use the bathroom in nearly eight hours." She spoke around a yawn, "In another hour I'll call Irving for the go-ahead so we can leave."

Crane squinted at the fluorescent streetlamp in perplexity. "Did you not state that this man, this "perp", has had over five eyewitness reports filed against him, all unanimously accusing him of being a committed criminal? A dealer of illegal imports, if I'm correct, with-"

"No, you're not correct." Abbie interrupted, keeping her face all-serious. Crane's brow furrowed in surprise, and Abbie could detect some genuine shock in his expression. She decided to give him a break.

"Of course you're correct, Crane." she amended, rolling her eyes at him.

He exhaled with a reluctant laugh. "It would be exceedingly singular were I not, Miss Mills."

"I'll get you one day." she murmured, her eyes scanning the dark street that stretched endlessly in front of them, punctured only by faint dots of electric light, all eventually swallowed up by the morning fog that would just be creeping in from the Hudson.

"As I was saying," he continued, "a man of this sort of reclusive nature would logically require a means of connection with the world outside of his…"

Crane leaned forward in the seat as he searched for the right word. Abbie had noticed that he tended to use his hands to make gestures and pictures in the air as he spoke. He also tended to lose himself in whatever he was discussing…if the topic interested him enough. And the most bizarre things seemed to, from the rightful name for 'french fries' to Thomas Jefferson's favorite hobby to _God knew what else_.

"…property, as it were." he continued. "And, of course, the execution of business transactions without an audience to cast suspicion. If he is as clever a man as Captain Irving thinks, then there may be some other entrance…"

Abbie took the moment to lean back heavily in her seat as she listened to his musings. Her ears stayed focused on Crane's voice while her eyes stopped responding to her commands and drifted shut of their own accord. _I'll just rest them for a minute._, she thought wearily. Her throat was so _sore_. She swallowed, wincing, as Crane's deep voice blurred around her ears. _Only one more hour…then home…_

"Miss Mills."

_Nope, nope, nope._

"Miss Mills?"

_Go away…let me sleep…_

"Lieutenant!"

"Gah!" Abbie jolted awake as someone shook her – _hard. _Her left hand reached for her gun while her right grasped her attacker's wrist in a death grip, trapping the person before they could bolt. Her gun had cleared its holster when she looked up – right into a pair of alarmed blue eyes. Ichabod _freaking_ Crane was leaning over the seat divider, his face precariously close, with a fistful of her jacket gripped in his right hand.

"Jesus, Crane!" She gasped, releasing his wrist and immediately holstering her weapon. "Don't scare me like that!" A shudder ran through her and she looked him up and down to be sure that he wasn't hurt. "I could have shot you!"

Crane leaned back a few inches from her in the small space, but seemed reluctant to retreat more. He was giving her one of his intense stares; looking at her like he was studying a cryptic passage or a challenging riddle. Or like she'd sprouted wings. She felt self-conscious at the attention, and more than a little disoriented.

"I don't doubt it, Miss Mills. However, you are the one who is frightening me at the moment."

"What are you talking about?" Abbie wheezed. Her chest felt tight; constricted, and she was panting like she'd run a marathon. Her gaze flitted to the dashboard as she tried to pull herself together. The little clock read 4:32 AM in bright green letters. _4:32AM? How long was I…?_

Her eyes flashed back up when she felt a light pressure on her forehead. It was Crane, holding the back of his hand to her forehead. The rest of him had shifted as far away from her as the length of his arm would allow, like she was a cobra and he was desperately trying to avoid getting bitten. She would have teased him about it if her head hadn't been pounding so loudly.

"You are _not _well." He murmured, almost to himself.

She managed a swat at his arm. He hastily snatched his hand away before she got the chance to smack it off her forehead.

"I'm _fine_." She bit off.

"No, you are _not -_" Both of them looked as the walkie-talkie on the dashboard suddenly bleeped to life.

"Mills, come in. Over." Captain Irving's voice, though distorted with static, held its normal no-nonsense tone. He must have been stuck working a long night, too. Abbie grabbed the walkie-talkie and tried to catch her breath.

"Mills. Over."

"Any change at the Berman place?"

Abbie coughed into her arm before answering.

"Absolutely nothing, sir. It's more quiet than the western front out here. Over"

Abbie could feel her nose start running, and she couldn't control the shiver that shook through her. When had it gotten so cold in here? She sniffed and reached for a tissue. Crane noticed and quickly handed one over.

There was a pause on the walkie-talkie. Then Irving was back. "Alright. I was afraid that would be the case."

There was another pause.

"Sir?" Abbie asked.

"We're gonna need a warrant to search the place to be sure about this guy. For now, both of you get some sleep; make your report when you come in today. Over."

"Yes sir. Over and out." Abbie finished wryly before leaning back in relief. _Thank. God. We get to leave. _She shivered again and coughed into her sleeve.

"Alright, let's go." She huffed, jacking her seat fully upright and turning the key in the ignition.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you're not going anywhere." Crane reached out quickly and tried to block her hands from the steering wheel using his long arms.

_Oh HELL no… _Abbie raised both arms in one fluid motion, shaking him off.

"_Crane_." She stared right at him with her hands suspended out of his reach, infusing some ice into her tone to get her point across. A person could not just grab a police officer – _twice_. Even if that person _was _Ichabod Crane.

"Miss Mills…" He stared right back, his expression matching hers in its determination, though also tinged with an unsettling amount of concern. "Do you honestly intend to operate a vehicle of transportation in your condition?"

"I had planned on it." She deadpanned, and then scoffed, "My _condition_? What on God's green earth are you talking about? I am-"

She bent nearly double in the seat as, suddenly, air seemed to stick in her throat like a lump of half-chewed gum. It took a minute of coughing and gasping for her to get her breath back. With shaky arms, she slowly straightened herself in the seat. _Well, that was embarrassing._

"Alright…" She rasped. "I may be getting just a little sick. _But,_" she held up a hand, stopping him before he interrupted, "I am still perfectly fine to drive, Crane. Let me just get you back to Corbin's – well, _your_ – cabin, and then I _promise _you, I will drive straight home and take a damn Tylenol."

Crane's brow furrowed at the term 'Tylenol', but he didn't ask.

"_Just a little sick_?" he repeated her words incredulously. "Lieutenant, I have been on the battlefield. I have treated numerous injuries, have watched my friends stare death in the face and come crawling back to life at the very last minute. I _know _illness, Miss Mills. Something so encumbering cannot have changed so very much in a mere _two centuries_."

Abbie watched his little tirade, both eyebrows raised as she waited for him to finish. "You done?"

"Not just yet. As I said, I know illness. And _you_…" He ignored her when she flinched away and determinedly laid his hand against her damp forehead. "…are _burning up_."

Crane's large palm was incredibly warm and comforting where it rested on Abbie's brow. She could feel his long fingers tangled gently in her bangs, keeping the hair out of her face as they rested against her temple. For a moment – just a split-second, really – she enjoyed the feeling of being cared for; of being worried over. Then, with a slow, steady breath, she pulled her head away from his palm and out of reach. He was overreacting; plain and simple.

"Crane," she said as she buckled her seatbelt and put the Jeep into gear, "I know what you must be thinking. But believe me when I tell you that medicine has come a long way since you were a soldier." She kept her tone mild and reassuring; she didn't want him worrying over her. Lord knew, the man had experienced enough pain to last a lifetime without useless worry stacked atop it.

"Illnesses that may have once been life-threatening can now be pretty much cured with a single pill."

She could feel, rather than see, his disbelieving frown as she pulled on to the main highway that led away from the center of Sleepy Hollow. She chuckled and threw him a look.

"I swear, it's true. I'll show you sometime – bring some Benadryl in to work or something."

"That would be…most enlightening." Crane ventured, before falling silent. Abbie chanced a look at him out of the corner of her eye. Bad idea – his eyes were glued to her face, and he looked more worried than ever. Was this apprehension about illness in general, or about her being ill, specifically? _Stop right there_, she told herself. _He's just a concerned friend. That's all. _And truth be told, she did feel horrible. This flu had just smacked her full-on in a matter of moments, and now she could not _wait_ to crawl into bed and be dead to the world for a solid eight to ten hours. But first, she had to get Crane home.

It felt like hours, but it was only a few torturous moments later that Abbie's Jeep rumbled down the uneven gravel driveway that ended at the antiquated cabin. She put the vehicle into park and fought the urge to slump completely over the steering wheel in exhaustion. No doubt that would alarm Crane. So instead, she fumbled with unbuckling her seat belt as he got out and walked around the front of the car to open her door. He always seemed intent on making her get out of the car and say goodbye at the door whenever she dropped him off at the cabin. Often he had another question for her that he had not asked earlier in the day, or once he had been curious about how to work the microwave. Abbie had not particularly minded this harmless tradition, until this moment, when all she wanted to do was sleep. Her nose was running again, and she grabbed another Kleenex. Ignoring the quickly-worsening throbbing in her joints, she stood and stepped out of car.

_No, no, no, no, no…too much, too much…crap, crap, double-crap..._

Those were her last thoughts as massive black spots bloomed in front of her, blocking out the cabin completely. A cold sweat gathered at her nape. Then, abruptly, the muddy ground was rising up to meet her.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Miss Mills!" _

_"Abbie, can you hear me?"_

"…_Abbie…?_"

The first thing she became aware of was a cheery, orange glow from beneath her closed eyelids. This was accompanied by crackling, snapping, and the faint aroma of burnt pine. The second thing she noticed was a damp cloth being wiped across her forehead, her neck, and, lastly, her collarbone. This was done carefully, twice, by a steady hand. The cool water felt amazing on her heated skin.

After a few tranquil moments, she cracked an eyelid, curious as to where she was. She was lying on a plush couch facing a glowing fireplace, in the front room of Corbin's cabin. _Oh, shit_. The night's events came flooding back to her, and she raised her head up to look around. Her boots sat on the floor, and her jacket and gun belt were laid over the back of the couch. Crane's thick, Colonial-era coat lay over her legs, and a bowl of water and a washcloth rested on a kitchen chair nearby.

"Crane?" she called out. Her voice was barely more than a glorified croak. She cleared her sore throat and tried again.

"Crane?" She tried to raise herself up on her elbows – no easy task considering that her joints were on fire. She was more than annoyed when, halfway through the process, Crane appeared and immediately pushed her shoulders back down.

"Nope, nope, that is _not _happening Lieutenant."

"What?" Abbie sputtered as he all but shoved her back down to the cushions.

"You fainted." He looked anywhere but at her as he arranged his coat over her once more. Abbie wasn't sure in the glow of the fire, but it looked like he blushed as he tucked it in around her hips. He took a seat in the wooden chair once he'd finished. "And you will not be trying to move again until your fever has gone down."

_Fever_. Abbie instinctively raised a hand to her head, and winced when her fingers found a bump growing on her forehead.

"You should be grateful; had I not the presence of mind to catch you, that could have been a much more extensive injury." Crane murmured when he saw her pained expression.

Abbie glanced up at him before continuing her exploration. Her skin felt cool to her own touch, but she knew that that hardly meant anything. Still, sick or no, she couldn't spend the night at the cabin. She had paperwork, her sister, and a _bed _waiting for her at her apartment. Still, _if _her sister had even called, Irving would have already explained Abbie's late assignment. Jenny wouldn't be expecting her back home until later today.

She looked at Crane. He looked about ready to tie her down, and the fingers of his right hand were twitching madly with his yet-unspoken thoughts. The odds of leaving this cabin tonight seemed to be dwindling by the second. Trying to diffuse the situation, Abbie slowly raised her head off the pillow and braced herself to sit up.

"Crane, I know what this may look like to you. But it's just a little fever, and some low blood sugar. I am seriously–"

"Yes, I know that you are _fine_." he finished bitterly, his British accent putting emphasis on that last four-letter word. Abbie's mouth twisted unapologetically.

"I suppose I ought to thank you," he added contemptuously, "for only succumbing to your illness _after_ your vehicle had been rendered safely out of action, rather than during the journey here."

"_You're welcome_." She threw back hotly. _Smart ass_. She did _not_ feel like indulging his sass right now. She also didn't want to admit that he had a point – that by refusing to consider her symptoms practically, she could have easily put them both in danger. Her car, smashed and burning by the side of the road with both of them pinned, was definitely not the happiest mental picture.

Crane sighed in vexation, looking once at the wall behind her, then the floor, before returning his gaze to her face. His blue eyes evaluated her with a mix of indulgence and concern. The combination made Abbie feel both exceedingly vulnerable and intensely valued all at once. Crane had always been able to read her way too easily for comfort. A shudder shook her and she sneezed. Annoyed, she wiped her nose on her right sleeve and struggled to sit up.

"Abbie."

She looked up in surprise when Crane's hand found hers. He had leaned forward in the rickety wooden chair, his tall frame almost bent double so that his head was nearly level with her head. His eyes bore into hers, gentle yet all too understanding.

"I understand the gravity of the danger that we face together, being the two witnesses of the impending apocalypse. I also believe that I understand your desire to remain strong, and sure of yourself, in the face of all adversity. It is a quality that I admire greatly in you, and I entreat you never to lose it."

Abbie couldn't have thought of a response if her life depended on it. People didn't just _say things like that_. At least not to her.

"However…" he continued softly, as if he hadn't just granted her an enormous compliment, "to ignore your health and rely solely on the strength of your character to sustain you can be the worst kind of folly. I have seen men die from such ignorance, and I will not see you walk down the same road without at least endeavoring to stop you."

"Crane," Abbie spoke levelly, with as much persistence as she could muster, "I am not dying."

The ghost of a smile touched his lips.

"Perhaps not in this century." he admitted. For a few seconds, there was no sound in the room but the crackling of embers as Abbie measured her resolve.

"Alright." she caved with a nod. The fight had drained out of her almost as quickly as it had come, and now all she felt was the warmth of Crane's hand entwined with hers, as well as the chill of her fever. "You're right, I could use a few hours of sleep."

"I whole-heartedly agree." Crane mimicked Abbie's nod and straightened in the chair while she shifted her body a little to her right on the small couch. In the process she pulled her hand away from his. Best to end their contact before it had the chance to become awkward.

"May I sit up now?" she ventured, testing the waters.

Crane couldn't seem to help grinning at her martyred expression.

"Yes, that would be quite alright, now that you seem to have come to your senses."

"Don't get me wrong," Abbie grunted as she shifted her legs over the side of the couch so that she could sit properly, with her hands on her knees, "I still think you're overreacting." As soon as she was upright, however, the pounding in her temples accelerated and the roaring in her ears jacked up about twelve notches in volume.

_Oh, OUCH_… Abbie lowered her head to her knees with a groan.

"You were saying?" That all-too-familiar British voice chimed smugly from somewhere over her head. Abbie wanted to hit him. _I'm gonna do it, _she thought to herself. _When this is over, I'm seriously going to hit him. _She shivered violently and squeezed her eyes shut, in an attempt to alleviate the pounding and stop the room from rotating slowly around her. She felt like she was going to vomit. Luckily, all that came out of her mouth was another groan.

The cool cloth immediately reappeared, sponging the sweat from her forehead, her hands where they cradled her heavy head, the back of her neck…

Abbie squeezed her eyes more tightly shut as another wave of nausea washed over her.

"Shhh, shhhh. You're all right. You're right here. Everything is going to be all right." Crane soothed, all trace of smugness gone from his voice as he wiped her face and neck again.

"Just breathe." He commanded.

"Okay." Abbie panted. Because what else could she do?

After a few breaths, she felt the world tipping as two long arms caught her shoulders and head, cautiously urging her back down to the pillow. She didn't fight him; she wasn't entirely sure she could open her eyes at the moment.

"Abbie."

Abbie cracked her eyes open the tiniest fraction. The fire illuminated Crane's dark tousled hair and worried eyes floating just above her face. "Yeah?" she croaked.

"You mentioned modern medicines that could cure ailments by administration of a single dose. Though such a degree of success is highly indefinite to my experience-"

"Crane." Abbie interrupted. "_Speak english_."

He rolled his eyes. "I believe this was a tonic you specified by name."

He pressed a small, purple bottle into her left hand. Abbie raised it up to the light. _Benadryl: Cough & Flu._

_Perfect choice. _Abbie smiled, mostly for his benefit.

"Nice work, Crane. This is _exactly_ what I need." Some Tylenol would have been nice, too, but she didn't feel like getting up to look for it. And she definitely wasn't going to start ordering him around. That privilege was for work hours only, if even then.

Crane smiled humbly, pleased at her response though still visibly perplexed by the concept of fail-safe cold meds. Abbie raised the bottle in salute. "Bottoms up." She took a straight swig, capped it, and handed it back to him. He immediately held the bottle up to the light so that he could read the label. With a sigh of resignation, Abbie pulled his coat up a little farther and snuggled a little deeper into the couch cushions.

"I forgot that I had bought you some meds when we first moved you in here." she murmured. "In case you ever get sick." She shot him a look that said, _not likely_. Crane's response was a raised eyebrow as he continued to scrutinize the Benadryl bottle. Abbie smiled at his intense study of the little label.

"To modern medicine." she breathed as she closed her eyes and rolled to her side.

"Indeed." Crane replied, sounding impressed.

After a moment of hesitation, Abbie reached out her arm, blindly searching until she found Crane's right hand, which was resting on his knee. She patted it in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"Don't you worry 'bout me, Crane." she mumbled. She was just beginning to feel the effects of the cough medicine on her already-fried brain, and it was more difficult than usual to eke out a clear sentence. "I'll be jus' fine in the morning. You'll see."

"I certainly hope so." She felt Crane turn his hand up and entwine her petite fingers with his long ones.

"And, by the way, it _is _the morning." he added after a beat.

For some reason Abbie found that quip hilarious. She snorted a laugh and giggled without opening her eyes. "It _is_, huh. Sorry – forgot." She heard Crane give a tired snort.

They were both quiet after that. The sputtering of the fire and the gentle swells of Crane's deep breathing filled up all the space in Abbie's mind, until there was nothing left but that very moment to dwell on. Those comforting sounds, and the potency of his hand tangled with hers, kept the demons at bay until she was finally, _finally_ able to sleep.


End file.
